


Rushing

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [21]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Canon Backstory, Earring, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Post-Taliesen, Relationship Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2754827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It would be hard to kiss you if you left."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Indecision

Theron winced at the prickling feeling of healing magic on his lip. He shifted slightly in mild annoyance, as he often had when the Keeper had tended to his injuries growing up, something that hadn’t ever changed.

“Stay still, please.” Wynne sighed in faint exasperation, putting a firm hand on the ranger’s shoulder to keep him still. “You’re worse than an eel. The apprentices have more patience than you.”

The Dalish elf had come out of the back alley scrap relatively unscathed, with a few minor cuts and bruises - the worst injury was his split lip. He’d insisted that the older Circle mage tend to Sten and Zevran first, given how they’d taken most of the punishment.

He looked over Wynne’s shoulder, towards the other two party members. Sten was cleaning Crow blood from Asala, ignoring the freshly-scarred cut on his cheek, and Zevran was almost done looting his way around the fallen assassins - all of them apart from one body.

Wisely, the elderly healer didn’t remove her hand until she was sure Theron’s injuries were fine. When she did, the elf quickly excused himself and walked over to Zevran, wiping blood from his lips irritably.

“Are you okay?” He asked, making the blond pause in stowing away a handful of silvers and coppers.

“Fine.” The Antivan responded, straightening up and looking down at the untouched body, the arrow protruding from his throat. “Taliesen is dead.”

“I was surprised that he was a human.” The ranger admitted, and Zevran raised an eyebrow. “It’s a very elven-sounding name.” Theron shrugged.

“Hm. But, there it is. I am free of the Crows. They will probably assume that I am dead along with Taliesen.” Zevran sighed, walking away from the dead assassins. “So long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out.” He added dully as he sat down on one of the steps above the slaughter.

“That’s a good thing, right?” Theron asked, noting how despondent the blond was.

“A very good thing.” The Antivan nodded. “It is, in fact, what I had hoped for ever since you decided not to kill me.” He smiled weakly. “I suppose it would be possible for me to leave now, if I wished.”

The Dalish elf froze, heart sinking uncomfortably to his stomach.

“I could go far away, somewhere where the Crows would never find me.” Zevran mused, before he looked up at the ranger sitting next to him. “I think, however, that I could also stay here. I made an oath to help you, after all, and I intend to take it seriously. And saving the world seems to be a worthy task to see through to the end, no?” Zevran grinned.

Theron was silent, looking around the back alley as he thought about how to respond.

“If you want to go, you should.” The black-haired man suggested quietly. Of course, if Zevran left, it would hurt him so much, but this wasn’t about him. He wanted to give Zevran a choice, the freedom that he’d clearly never had under the Crows. The Antivan frowned.

“But that is what I am asking you.” He said, confused. “Do you want me to go? Do you need me to stay?”

The ranger looked at him.

“Of course I need you. We all do.” He murmured quietly, for Zevran’s ears alone. “But I want you to do what’s best for you.”

The blond blinked, astonished.

“I…” He began uncertainly. “Am not sure how to respond to that.” He admitted, shifting where he sat. “Nobody has ever…” He stumbled over his words, his usual charm gone. “These things are usually decided by others.”

The two elves were quiet for a minute, Sten and Wynne both wise enough to recognise that now wasn’t the time to interrupt and suggest leaving just yet.

“Err…” Zevran groaned indecisively, looking down at his feet. “I suppose that I will… Stay?” He ventured, peering up through his eyelashes at Theron as if for approval or direction. The ranger’s face was carefully, deliberately neutral. “Is that… Good?” The blond floundered.

Theron studied him for a second, as if he was a particularly interesting set of animal tracks.

“It would be hard to kiss you if you left.” He eventually spoke, shrugging casually and trying to hide a relieved smile.

Zevran laughed loudly, worries rapidly disappearing. Theron actually wanted him to stay. Needed him to stay.

“You know, that is very true.” He nodded in agreement, smiling at the Dalish elf. Theron smiled back distractedly, and then leaned forwards to abruptly and openly kiss Zevran, resting a hand on his cheek and tilting his head.

They may have been in a back alley with just two other living people, but coming from Theron it was a clear statement, almost as blatant as doing something in Denerim’s marketplace that would get them both warnings at least from the city guard.

The kiss was softer than normal, but in some ways it was more passionate than anything rough. It left them both breathless when they finally pulled away, staring at each other before Wynne discreetly cleared her throat.

“Right… We should go.” Theron said quickly, getting to his feet and slinging his bow over his shoulder. With that, they left the failed Crow attack behind.

They were halfway through the marketplace when the ranger spoke again.

“Do you regret it?” He asked, and Zevran glanced over.

“Killing Taliesen? Not really.” He admitted with a shrug. “He was my friend and occasionally more, the same as Rinna, but that was more for convenience rather than attraction or common ground.”

Theron raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“What do you mean? You… Didn’t like Taliesen?”

“You saw how he acted. He didn’t appear to have changed since the last time I saw him, or indeed in all the time I knew him. We befriended each other as recruits, for mutual benefits. Having someone to watch your back in the Crows can mean you avoid getting a knife in it - most of the time, at least.” Zevran explained, looking remarkably unconcerned.

“I see. What about Rinna?”

The former Crow sighed, looking down at his feet.

“I… Perhaps cared less for her than I made it seem. Less than she for me, certainly. I regret what happened now, but at the time, after everything that had happened, I was indifferent to her. I thought she had betrayed us, betrayed the Crows. I suppose that made the idea of killing her easier to consider.” He answered quietly. “Of course, I regret her death to this day. I hated Taliesen for lying, for tricking me so easily. I grieved for her, because it felt right. No-one else would have, besides.”

Theron was silent as he absorbed the information, the idea that Zevran never truly cared for the people he said he did. A sharp pang of fear twisted the ranger’s stomach as a thought occurred - did the blond truly care for him? Or was it even more empty words and promises built on lies?

The Dalish elf knew that subtlety was not his strong suit, so he didn’t bother to dance around the subject and allow his fears to grow and fester.

“And what about us? What… What about me?” The black-haired man asked quietly so neither of the other two behind them could hear the discussion.

“Hm? Oh… I see why you would worry.” Zevran sighed, looking over at the other elf sheepishly. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything, yes?” He suggested.

“Answer the question, please.” Theron’s voice was cool, his expression calm, but the former Crow could see the gleam of worry in his grey eyes.

“Of course. Of course I care about you.” Zevran said as they passed through the city gates. “I even have something for you, in fact.” He added, brightening as an idea occurred, reaching for his pack. Theron watched, curious and wary.

“Here, it seems an appropriate moment to give you this.” The blond said, eventually finding what he was looking for and handing it over - a small, tied up bundle of cloth. Theron carefully unpicked the knot.

“An… Earring?” The ranger asked, frowning as he looked down at the small piece of jewellery in the palm of his hand.

“Yes. I acquired it on my very first job for the Crows.” The Antivan explained. “A Rivaini merchant prince. He was wearing a single jewelled earring - in fact, that was all he was wearing - when I killed him.”

“... Oh.”

“I thought it was beautiful and took it to mark the occasion. I’ve kept it since… And I’d like you to have it.”

Theron looked up at the Antivan walking next to him.

“Isn’t this a little sudden?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea; you helped me kill Taliesen. And as far as the Crows are concerned, I died with him. I’m free, for now at least. Feel free to sell it, wear it… Whatever you like.”

Theron looked down at the earring again, holding his tongue. He couldn’t exactly tell Zevran now that to the Dalish, exchanging important gifts such as this usually was an expression of the deep bond between the gift giver and the receiver - familial or romantic. It was something highly special, something _shemlen_ and flat-eared city elves never truly understood the importance of. And the ranger highly doubted that Zevran would understand either.

“So… Not a token of affection, then?” The black-haired man asked slowly, and Zevran frowned.

“I… Look, just take it.” He suggested, looking at the earring as well. “It’s meant a lot to me, but so have - so has what you’ve done. Please, take it.”

That stung Theron a little. Zevran only wanted to give him the earring out of appreciation for what he’d done, rather than what he felt. It didn’t exactly ease the ranger’s sudden fear either. He quickly bundled the earring back up in it’s cloth and tied the knot again.

“No, Zevran.” He said firmly, holding the cloth back out. “I’ll only take it if it actually means something.”

Zevran had little choice but to take the earring back, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

“You are a very frustrating man to deal with, do you know that?” The Antivan shot back, mood souring, as he stuffed the earring back into his pack, stepping away slightly from the ranger in the process. “We pick up every other bit of treasure we come across, but not this? Fine. You don’t want the earring, you don’t get the earring. Very simple.”

Theron gritted his teeth, but kept his eyes on the road ahead as the group settled into a thorny silence that lasted until long after they got back to camp.


	2. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron briefly loses his temper.

Theron took first watch immediately after dinner, to the surprise and relief of Leliana, whose turn it had been. The ranger had been mostly silent all night, even during the after dinner chatter. Most notably, he’d not sat next to Zevran, which everyone noticed.

“They had some kind of argument on the walk back.” Was all that Wynne could say, leaving the camp to quietly wonder as the two resident elves ignored each other.

The ranger wasn’t too surprised when Wynne eventually came over, the last to retire for the night, and he moved over to give her the comfortable spot on the seat. They sat together for a few minutes, Theron staring into the fire and simply waiting for the older mage to speak. She was no Keeper, but her age and healing magic alone called for the same level of respect, even if she was a _shemlen_ relatively new to the ragtag party of outcasts.

“You and Zevran are quite taken with each other, aren’t you?” She began.

Ah, so the talk was to be about this.

“I suppose it was obvious today, for a time.”

Wynne nodded slowly in agreement.

“I wanted to ask you where you thought it was going. It seems he only ever has one thing on his mind. I question the wisdom of a Grey Warden being involved in such an affair.”

Okay, Theron had thought she was going to ask him for more details about the argument in a similar way to Leliana had earlier until he’d told her that he truly didn’t want to talk about it. He hadn’t expected Wynne to contemplate the future of their relationship - especially now, when things seemed rather uncertain.

“Zevran is deeper than you think, and I enjoy spending time with him.”

“Which is why I worry. You are a Grey Warden. You have responsibilities and I fear you will neglect them.” The mage replied.

Theron closed his eyes against the firelight, and let out a tired sigh. He knew that Wynne was probably concerned, and was trying to give him advice, her opinion on the subject, but he was honestly in no mood to be accused however lightly of neglecting his Grey Warden duties.

“I can handle my responsibilities and relationships, Wynne. I thank you for your concern.” The ranger answered calmly, still trying his best to maintain his politeness out of respect for his elder.

“But you are a Grey Warden. The title is not a coat you can cast aside at the end of the day. it should inform your every action, your every decision.”

Theron cracked one eye open, taking issue with that. Of course he knew he couldn’t merely step away from the role that he had been made to take, but nor could it ‘inform’ everything that he chose to do or say from the second he woke up. He was a Grey Warden, and now always would be, but he was Dalish, a wild-born nomadic elf first and foremost. Many _shemlen_ saw a stern-faced hunter who wielded a bow like it was an extension of his body before they saw a Grey Warden who was trying to help them, even now as the Landsmeet finally assembled.

“The way you are acting now, it is not fitting of a Grey Warden.”

“Then why don’t you tell me how I should act that would befit a Grey Warden rather than a ranger who has travelled further from home than any of his people could dream? Who can never return home when the dust has settled?” Theron snapped, patience suddenly gone. He’d fought with Zevran and was unsure of how to fix things beyond his old method of running away again. He was suddenly uncertain how the other elf felt about him, or whether he would even stay now the Crows were off his back at last. The last thing he needed now was Wynne trying to impart wisdom and only rubbing salt in the wounds. “Who has killed so many times that, if they had been innocents, the Creators themselves would spit on him and forever turn their backs?” He looked over, and took in the healer’s shocked expression in the dancing firelight. “I disagree with you, _haharen_. You do not know me, of anything and _everything_ I have been through to get here. You know _nothing_ of me. I can be a Grey Warden and still be with Zevran. Providing he even wants to continue our relationship in the first place.”

Wynne was quiet for a moment after the outburst, before she stood up, brushing down her senior enchanter robes to avoid that sharp glare.

“Well, if you insist.” She replied, sounding a little shaky. “I have given my advice. Do with it what you will.” With that, she quickly strode back to her tent, and the camp grew quiet again.

 

The time passed quickly with only Dudain for company, and soon Sten approached to take the next watch. Theron ducked into his tent, and wasn’t all that surprised to see that it was cold and dark; there was no light lit in readiness, no Zevran waiting up for him. Zevran wasn’t in his tent, and Theron didn’t really blame him. The ranger sighed, quickly stripping out of his armour and pulling an undershirt and cotton trousers on. He ignored Sten’s glance when he came back out of his tent so soon and darted across to Zevran’s tent. As he’d thought, the former Crow was still up, darning one of his socks, and still in his armour.

“ _Braska_.” The Antivan swore, and whether it was because of Theron’s entrance or the fact he’d just stabbed himself in the finger with one of Wynne’s needles was unclear.

“Can we talk? Or, do you want to join me in my tent?” The ranger asked, and Zevran looked up, lowering the sock.

“No. No, I do not think so. Surely there is something on your mind other than that?” The blond replied, and Theron frowned when it became clear Zevran had ignored the first question as if it had never been asked, and completely misinterpreted the second.

“There is. I don’t like avoiding problems, and don’t you think we should talk about what happened today? Remember what happened with Morrigan?”

Zevran dropped the sock entirely, giving the other elf an unhappy look at bringing up _that_ incident after so long.

“Are you certain you wish to talk about this? I really do not know what to say.”

Theron sighed, a few good responses drifting through his mind. _Of course I want to talk about this. Are you having second thoughts about us? Are you this upset over me refusing the earring?_

“Yes. I want to know what’s changed. Why you reacted like that.”

“Hm, very well.” Zevran sighed, edging over on his bedroll for the Dalish elf to sit next to him.

“An assassin must forget about sentiment. It is dangerous. You take your pleasures where you can, when you can, while life is good.” He began, looking down at his lap. “To expect more would be reckless. I… Thought it was the same between us.” He admitted slowly, picking up the spool of thread and fidgeting with it rather than look up at Theron. “Something to enjoy, a pleasant diversion, and nothing more. And yet…” The Antivan trailed off there, voice dying in his throat.

Theron frowned, and a faint bloom of hope sprouted inside him as he considered what the former Crow was implying.

“Zevran, are you saying that you’re in love with me?” He asked carefully, trying not to let himself give into the gleeful hope - that would be foolish, immature. It was a wild assumption to make. What if Zevran said no, anyway?

“I don’t know.” The blond replied softly, sounding genuinely lost as he stared down unseeingly at the spool. “How… How would you know such a thing?” He bit his lip. “I grew up amongst those who sold the illusion of love, and then I was trained to make my heart cold in favour of the kill. _Everything_ I have been taught says that what I feel is wrong.” Zevran looked up at the Dalish elf then. “Yet, I cannot help it. Since you asked me into your tent - not that first time, of course - I have been nothing but confused. Do you understand me at all?” He asked.

Theron frowned as he considered all that Zevran had said. He had grown up with Tamlen, childhood admiration had slowly developed into a crush, a secret longing for something more. For Tamlen to see him as more than a friend as well. And then he had finally gathered his courage, forehead still stinging - he had received his complete _vallaslin_ without a sound, he could surely do something as simple as tell Tamlen! They were both adults now, he’d understand if nothing else - and… Tamlen had laughed in his face, unthinking and unknowably cruel. Treated it as a joke, in fact. When Ashalle had found him stubbornly trying not to cry, she’d naturally assumed it was the _vallaslin_ that pained him rather than his heart.

Theron hadn’t dared to allow himself to feel that way about anyone else, until Zevran had come into his life. And even then it had been a very shaky start. But some part of the ranger had known, before he’d impulsively kissed the handsome Antivan in front of the fire that night, before Zevran had offered his massage skills and promised to leave all weapons outside the tent. He supposed that he’d known long before he acted on any of those long buried wants, the ones he thought had disappeared along with Tamlen. He wasn’t sure if what he felt now - this strange bubble of hope, the happiness he’d felt sitting on the sun-warm steps in Denerim when Zevran had decided for himself that he would stay - if it was _love_.

He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, and realised he had been sitting in silence for a little too long.

“I… I am no more wiser than you in that area, Zevran.” He replied.

“All I need to know is if there might be some future for us, some possibility of… I do not know what.” The former Crow shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t know, but I hope so. I think I know how I feel about you.” Theron admitted gently, watching Zevran’s shoulders relax.

“I still have the earring.” The blond answered, smiling ruefully as he dropped the spool to the floor with the needle and sock. “I would like to give it to you - as a token of affection this time, you understand. Will you take it?” He asked, watching the Dalish elf’s face carefully, so Theron had to struggle not to smile - or even worse, tear up.

“That sounds a lot like a proposal. Giving me a ring of sorts and everything.” The ranger teased to hide his reaction, and Zevran smiled.

“Not unless you wish it.” The Antivan shrugged, but there was no denying the hopeful look in his eyes.

“Then yes. I’ll take it.”

“That is enough for me.” Zevran sighed, leaning forwards to gently kiss the other elf on the cheek. “I am sorry for acting so strangely, _mi amor_. I think I will be better now. Much better.”

“ _Ma emma vhenan'ara_.” Theron whispered in response, kissing him back on the lips as the last of his worries left for good like birds taking flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> ma emma vhenan'ara - you are my heart's desire

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, it gets better.


End file.
